


The Long Game

by frymyrisole



Category: Great Pretender
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, M/M, Riding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:21:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24822268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frymyrisole/pseuds/frymyrisole
Summary: “You know what I want,” Laurent whispered.“I think I do,” Makoto mused. “If what everyone has been hammering into my head since day one is true. But I don’t think you yourself know what you want anymore.”Laurent’s eyes narrowed. “And what’s that supposed to mean, Edamame?”“I’m saying,” Makoto murmured, leaning forward. He brushed his lips ever so slightly against Laurent’s jaw, meeting the roughness of his stubble, inwardly smiling in how Laurent shivered under him. “You’re trying to entangle me into some sort of long-running con game, and I won’t play along.”
Relationships: Makoto Edamura/Laurent Thierry
Comments: 53
Kudos: 1443





	The Long Game

**Author's Note:**

> Set in episode 12 ٩(｡•́‿•̀｡)۶  
> @frymyrisole on twt

“You’ve been at it for hours now,” Laurent drawled from where he was sprawled on the hotel’s pristine dark couch. Cynthia and he had drunk the sunset away through a 700 dollar wine bottle, and Laurent had managed to pry the last glass from Cynthia’s drunken hands just in time before she tipped over and passed out. Abby had merely scowled, propped the redhead against her, kicked Laurent’s outstretched legs as she walked passed and left to their rooms without a word. Now the Frenchman had fully sprawled himself across the unoccupied couch as if he was Napoleon Bonaparte himself, gray tie unraveled, jacket and vest draped over an armchair, and his stupid long legs stretched out. “You’re wasting paint at this point dear Edamame.”

Makoto ignored him, dabbing his brush tipped with white paint over and over on the small 33 by 22 cm canvas. He could feel Laurent’s eyebrows furrowing, his mouth downturned to a pout. For all his schemings and frankly frightening insides of how his target’s mind worked, the middle-aged man was nothing more than a glorified brat sometimes. He could easily concoct plans that would earn them enough money to last a lifetime and the next, but that wouldn’t be fun for Laurent. He craved the lies, the deceit, the underlying pleasure of serving slow-cooked piping hot justice in a way that hurt the most. Sick bastard.

“Edamame,” He whined. “Are you really ignoring me right now?”

Ah fuck he should’ve used a smaller brush. And this Sergio guy must’ve mixed his whites with _something_ else to make it blend so well to the scenery because all the dots he’s been adding looked more like a lopsided baseball than a fragile snowflake. Makoto glanced down at his messy palette and sighed forlornly. Well it’s messed up now, best screw around with it so he could start fresh with the other canvas.

“Edamame,” Laurent called out in a sing-song voice. “If you don’t look this way I’ll pour the wine all over the couch.”

“You’re paying for the room dumbass.” Shit.

Laurent perked up, pinching the wine glass between his fingers and deftly turning it in his hand. The deep crimson liquid sloshed to the edge dangerously. “Thought your English worsened for a second there Edamame. Should I use smaller words now?”

Makoto’s eye twitched, and even when he knew it was exactly what Laurent wanted, he let go of his brush with a clatter. He turned to Laurent poking his tongue out. “You taught me most of my English dumbass.” If teaching could be constituted as Laurent dropping him in the middle of nowhere and expecting Makoto to return to the hotel in one piece with nothing more than broken English and a teary-eyed face as the locals threw him a few coins instead of telling him where the _fuck_ Hilton Hotel is.

Laurent chuckled, turning to his side to face him. Whatever product he used to keep his hair nice and neat had worn off by now, his blonder hair strewn over the red pillow he propped his head-on. “Didn’t Cynthia already tell you she has a perfect person in mind for the job? It’s impossible to recreate such a delicate piece with your clumsy hands, much less within a day's worth of studying.”

“Yeah I heard her,” Makoto muttered, finally giving up on finishing his painting. Once Laurent gets talking there’s no stopping him until he’s satisfied. He settles his brush and palette to the side, shuffling in his seat to face away from the trainwreck of a canvas in front of him. He addresses the other trainwreck in the room instead. “It’s just-the way she said it. She looked-sad. Angry even, like she had to pull a molar out instead of a trump card.”

“Wow! You’re very sensitive to a woman’s sensibility aren’t you? Are all Japanese like that?” Laurent crooned, taking a sip of his wine. “Ah but Edamame isn’t quite like the stereotypical Japanese men are you?”

“Yeah? Well you embody a Frenchman to a tee,” Makoto rolled his eyes, trudging over. “Almost like you’re playing a character really.”

Laurent glanced up, lips quirked up. “That’s a scary face you’ve got there Edamame. What’s my little apprentice thinking about?”

“How much I’d like to punch you across the jaw,” Makoto muttered, leaning against the couch and bracketing Laurent with his arms. “And I’m not your apprentice anymore Laurent, I quit remember?”

Laurent swirls his wine, his eyes never leaving Makoto’s. “Sure you didn’t mistake punch for kiss there Edamame?”

Ignoring the last part as always huh? “Just tell me what you want Laurent,” All the wine he drank stained his lips red, still chapped from the cold winter air. It looked like Laurent bit his lips too much instead of being a drunkard. “You’re only this chatty when you’re bored.”

“You know what I want,” Laurent whispered. 

“I think I do,” Makoto mused. “If what everyone has been hammering into my head since day one is true. But I don’t think you yourself know what you want anymore.”

Laurent’s eyes narrowed. “And what’s that supposed to mean, Edamame?”

“I’m saying,” Makoto murmured, leaning forward. He brushed his lips ever so slightly against Laurent’s jaw, meeting the roughness of his stubble, inwardly smiling in how Laurent shivered under him. “You’re trying to entangle me into some sort of long-running con game, and I won’t play along.”

Makoto pulled away just as quickly as he leaned forward, taking a delightful sip of his newly acquired wine glass. Laurent’s eyes widened, his hand flexing on thin air. He chugged the rest of the admittedly delicious wine, making a show of how his throat bobbed, and even letting a few stray liquid drip down his from the edge of his lips down to his neck.

Laurent’s hand gripped at nothing. Makoto sighed, putting down the now empty glass on the low coffee table. “Alright, that’s enough verbal gymnastics. I’m hunkering down. Good night.”

A hand shot out, gripping his wrist. Makoto startled, halting in his steps. Laurent’s fingers burrow under his blue sweater, finding his throbbing pulse. He glanced back at the couch, a little surprised to see no smirk or coy smile in sight of Laurent’s face. Honestly, the confidence man looked a little...frustrated.

A thrill shot up through his spine. Those long nights whining to Cynthia and Abby about how much he wanted to get an upper hand up over Laurent was finally coming into fruition.

-

“The trick,” Cynthia giggled, playing with the tufts of his hair. “Is to just ignore his advances.”

Makoto groaned voice muffled as he buried his head on the table. “But he doesn’t _really_ flirt with me, he just-makes up all these dumb scenarios and expects me to come running to his awaiting arms.” Which he admittedly did multiple times, but what was one to do when one was either chased down by fake FBI agents for an equally fake drug, or being held down at gunpoint by a disgraced Arabian prince? Exactly!

“He talks big, but he’s a coward through and through,” Abby snorted, leaning back against her chair until it tipped precariously. He’s given up admonishing her when she’s given up talking back to him. She lets her switchblade do most of the talking these days. “He won’t actually go through with anything when it’s people he’s working with. Messy-distracts him from looking at things from that high and mighty ground he has up his ass. If you flirt back he’ll back off instantly.”

Cynthia let out a small wondering ooh. “Well how bout that Edamame? You need to out flirt the flirt!”

“Out flirt a Frenchman?” Makoto laughed and immediately stopped. He might sob if he continues. “How the _hell_ am I going to do that?”

Cynthia giggled, poking his head until he lifted it to face her forlornly. Cynthia twirled her hair, giving him a soft mischievous smile. “You do know who you’re talking to, don’t you?”

Abby wrinkled her nose. “I am _not_ sticking in to hear how you’re going to seduce Laurent.”

Cynthia waved her hand at Abby’s retreating back. She leaned against the table, pushing her breasts up the surface and gave him a saucy look. “Seduction 101, step one. Show off your _best_ assets.”

Makoto looked down at himself, cupping his non-existent mammary gland. Cynthia roared with laughter, slapping his shoulder. 

“Here’s the best thing about you Edamame. You are your best asset. Laurent is head over heels for you-enough to drag you halfway across your world and into his own. The only thing you need to do is be _bold_ , bolder than him. And I guarantee you’ll have him around your fingers this time.”

-

Makoto played hard to get. And he meant _hard_ hard. He reverted to his principles, saying he was done with conning people. He wanted to live an honest life. Pestered Laurent to no end about how much he hated the job until Laurent caved and let him go.

He wasn’t even five steps out of the hotel with his suitcase packed before Laurent tucked an address for a nice boarding house at the edge of town, and a phone number to a local sushi restaurant. Makoto had to bite his lip from full-on smirking, thanking Laurent as profusely as he could.

Watching Laurent pine over him was _hilarious_. He never gave up recruiting Makoto to odd jobs here and there around Nice, even offering to take him to Paris, up the Eiffel tower, _oh you’ll just love it Edamame_ , _just do this one itty bitty con with us_ , _and I’ll give you an all-expense vacation_.

He lied about how much he’s learned french. He knows enough by now to string a few sentences of his own, and certainly enough to listen in to Laurent and Cynthia.

_“Look at him Cynthia! Forming rice with his adorable little hands. Don’t you want to just eat him up?”_

_“Last I checked Edamame was a bean, not a fish you shameless man.”_

_“Ah, look he’s frowning! Look how adorable he is when he's confused! He’s going to get wrinkles and dry eyes from how hard he’s glaring.”_

_“Laurent, please. Not in front of my sushi.”_

He dodged every request to come back and firmly planted himself in the little homey boarding house. Still, Laurent would come, dragging Cynthia with him as a pretense of grabbing a bite. Makoto knows the food here is good, but even he’s getting bored of tomato and bean soup.

Letting the painting be sold for 20.000 euros was a slip-up, but if Laurent’s satisfied smile every time someone brings up his fuck up is to be believed, the bastard knew he’d fall for the _that’s nothing more than an amateur painting_ shtick. 

But right now, judging by the grip in Laurent’s hand, and the way his eyebrows furrowed together, Makoto _knows_ he’s won the game, even if he’s let Laurent control the board.

“What?” Makoto asked calmly. 

Laurent’s fingers brush the inners of his wrist. Makoto retains his poker face. Laurent’s frown deepens. “Why are you so…”

“Hm?”

“Cold to me today?” Laurent breathed out. “No-not just today. You’ve let my jabs go through so many times now. You barely word out a comeback. You haven’t even shouted at me in like, a week!”

“Is that what you want?” Makoto smiled. “I’ll yell at you all you want tomorrow Laurent. I’ll get a nice eight-hour sleep tonight and ready my throat.”

“No...I just-” Laurent groaned, sitting up. Makoto ends up tucked in between the spread of his legs. “Whatever it is I did...I’m sorry. Please-come back for good. And stop putting distance between us.”

“Why?”

“Why?”

“Why should I?” Makoto shot back. “If we’re just going to work together why can’t I put some distance between us? It’s just like Abby always said, we’re not friends or comrades. I’ll come back sure, but I’ll only focus on the con. Be the perfect confidence man. That’s what you want too, right?”

Laurent peered up at him, his hand tightening around his wrist. Like he was scared Makoto would run off at any moment. _Brat_ , he thought fondly.

Feeling a little bad, Makoto curled his own hand until it rested on Laurent’s wrist. Laurent’s shoulders untensed. Makoto bit his lip. “Is that what you want Laurent?”

Laurent blinked, before slowly shaking his head. As if coming to the realization just now. “No...it’s not.”

“So what _do_ you want?”

“You,” Laurent whispered, tugging his arm. Makoto gasped, bracing himself with his free hand on the couch. He ended up sprawled all over Laurent, his grip around his wrist unyielding. “I want you.” He said, face a mere breath away from him. Makoto gulped.

“W-well what if I don’t want you?”

Laurent’s smirk returned, and Makoto felt his control slip. There goes the board again.

“You want me.” Finally, he let go of his wrist. Makoto flexed them with a wince. Laurent picked up his pieces, reclaiming the field. His hand crept down, cupping Makoto’s ass through his jeans. He yelped, reaching back to slap Laurent’s hand.

“What the hell?!”

Laurent retreated his right hand, pouting as he showed his reddened skin. “No need to get violent Edamame. We haven’t negotiated a BDSM kink into our relationship just yet.”

“What kink?! What relationship?!”

Laurent grinned, tugging him closer. The front of Makoto’s jeans ground with Laurent’s expensive dress pants. “You,” Laurent pointed at him. “And me.” He pointed to himself, and Makoto helplessly tracked his finger as it waggled between them. 

“You’re delusional andinsane? No wonder you’re single.”

“Not anymore,” Laurent tipped his jaw up, and Makoto tensed. “I have my very own Edamame now.”

“Who’s your Eda-mmph.” Laurent cut him off with a press of his lips. He was soft at first, hesitant, but as all things Laurent, he quickly turned greedy. Each kiss was deeper, longer, Makoto could barely breathe in before Laurent’s lips were there again, coaxing his own. He tasted like wine, bitter, sour, yet always with an underlying sweet.

Laurent’s hand wandered, giving his ass a squeeze and quickly moving on when Makoto squawked and hit him over the head. He slipped through his soft blue sweater, running a hand on his bareback. Makoto shivered at his cold fingers, arching away with a whine. “You’re freezing dumbass.”

“Oh?” Laurent said, and suddenly he retracted both his hands, making Makoto scream as he scrambled for a hold. 

He ended up tangling his arms around Laurent’s neck, shaking from the thought of an alternate timeline where he didn’t grab on in time and fell back on the coffee table. He whipped his head around, a string of curses at the ready, only for Laurent to kiss him again, this time with a slide of his tongue. Makoto moaned, his legs shaking as Laurent _refused_ to hold him up, curling his hand on his lap nonchalantly instead.

“Jesus! Shit! Son of a bitch!” He hissed right at Laurent’s face.

The Frenchman tilted his head. “My lover sure has a potty mouth in him.”

“Who’s your lover!” He snapped. “If you’re not taking this seriously I’m leaving!”

Laurent’s eyes flashed. “I’m _dead_ serious when it comes to matters of the heart, Makoto.”

His breath hitched. He looked at Laurent incredulously. “Did you just-”

Laurent held up his cupped hand in front of him and exhaled. A sudden burst of warmth brushed past between them.

“What are you-”

“My hands are cold, aren’t they?” Laurent hummed, letting out another puff of warm exhale. “A freezing dumbass as one-pointedly put it.”

“You’re-” Goddamn adorable sometimes. Makoto tucked himself on the couch better, enough so he could pull away and take Laurent’s hand in his. The con man’s eyes widened as Makoto rubbed his hand between his own over and over until the tips of his fingers and the palm of his hand pinked. He glanced up, feeling a sudden struck of shyness at Laurent’s parted lips. He looked as if no one’s ever done this kind of thing for him before. As if, fucking playboy.

Makoto slowly let his hand go when they felt warm enough, and both their hands dropped to their laps instead. Laurent’s hand gave his a small squeeze, a wordless thank you before it slid away and into the buttons of his jeans instead. 

“Have you no concept of a _moment_?” Makoto asked, exasperated. Still, he didn’t stop Laurent from unbuttoning his pants, nor did he stop Laurent from letting out a low whistle as he cupped his hard cock constrained only by his boxers. He didn’t stop Laurent as he tugged both his pants down, nor did he stop Laurent from tugging him back to his lap.

He most certainly did not stop Laurent from kissing him back as he fumbled with his stupid fancy dress pants, nor did he stop Laurent from nipping at his lips as he tugged the blond’s cock out.

Makoto gripped it, tight, giving it a relentless fast stroke. Laurent bucked from the couch, the only thing keeping them from falling was Laurent’s arm around his waist. “My-very...very bold of you Makoto.”

“Less talking, more stripping.” He murmured, gesturing to Laurent’s shirt. The blonde tensed under him.

“If you don’t mind I’d...rather not.”

He searched Laurent’s eyes, before shrugging. “Suit yourself.”

“You’re not going to ask?”

“I find that with you,” Makoto grinned, grasping both their cocks in his hand. He bit his lip at Laurent’s deep moan. “It’s better to just act and expect the answers waiting for me in the finish line.”

Laurent tucks his head on the crook of his neck, breathing hot heavy breaths against his skin. A hand roughly stretches his sweater to the side and he presses kiss over kiss to his skin, Makoto’s knees going shaky with each one. And then, just as he got to his collarbone, he _bites_ , and Makoto grasps his blond hair with a moan. “L-Laurent-”

Laurent licks the spot, almost apologetically presses a kiss to it, before his hands wander once more. This time he racks his hand to Makoto’s chest, brushing his nipples. Makoto ground down desperately, rubbing his hard leaking cock against Laurent's shirt. His precum staining the dark fabric.

“P-please...Laurent…”

“Lay back.” Laurent murmured, shifting him on to the couch. Makoto panted, glancing to the side as Laurent shrugged off his pants. The blond rummaged through his jacket, and like pulling a rabbit from a top hat, a small tube of lube and condom was acquired.

“Of course. Of course, you have those on you.” Makoto rolled his eyes.

Laurent grinned. “Never hurts to be prepared.”

But he neither opened the lube nor the condom. Instead, Laurent hunkered down, licked his lips, and took his hard cock in his mouth in one swift motion.

Makoto moaned, his hand scrambling to take hold of something-anything. He entangles his fingers on Laurent’s hair, to keep him down or to tell him to slow down he couldn’t quite tell anymore. Laurent bobbed his head, licking the underside of his cock, and pressing the bulge to his cheeks erotically.

“L-Laurent!” Makoto whispered. “God-slow down!”

Laurent was relentless, he alternated between sucks and licks, and even a stroke of his hands. He licked the head of his cock teasingly, moaning into it and sending a jolt of pleasure, warm and deep in his stomach.

Laurent takes his shaking hips and spreads them as he pulls away, towering over him as he looks down at Makoto. He must be a sight to behold. Hair strewn around with sweat, his sweater rumpled and tugged up for Laurent to graze his perked up nipple ever so often, his cheeks red and his breath short, nothing short of desire in his eyes.

“ _Tu es beau_."

Makoto rolled his eyes. "I know enough French for that at least."

"Oh ho? And what did I just say?"

Makoto grinned cheekily. "That foreplay is over and that you'll fuck me?"

"In three words?" Laurent laughed, reaching for the lube. "How efficient of me."

When the first finger pressed against his hole, Makoto sucked in a deep breath. Only Laurent's soft encouragement as he rubbed his tense thigh made him exhale. At the same time, Laurent pushed the finger in, and Makoto bit his lip from the burn.

Laurent pressed a kiss to his cheek as he slowly coaxed more fingers in, one, two, then three. Eventually, the rough burn gave away to pleasure, enough to make Makoto fuck himself into Laurent's fingers to chase it.

"Mm...yeah...right there…"

Laurent curled his fingers, and Makoto's toes curled with it. Laurent gives his knees and the inner of his thigh soft kisses as he works his fingers in. "Feeling good?"

"Mm...more...I can take more."

"You sure?"

"Mhm."

Laurent rolled a condom on, braced himself on Makoto's knees, and slowly stroked himself as he took in Makoto. "God. You're so…"

"Sexy I know." He laughed. "The ratty sweater and the paint-stained hands really drive in the deal."

"I like a confident man." Laurent grinned.

"That's not- _oh._ " Makoto gasped as Laurent pushed the head of his cock in, moaning when Laurent grinded down roughly and without mercy.

Soon he was fully sheathed in Makoto, and after a nod that he was ready, Laurent took his hips and pulled out until only the head of his cock was left, and thrust in again fast and deep.

Makoto whines at the scandalous sounds they make. He clutches Laurent's shoulder desperately as the man fucked into him, over and over until the winter cold faded to warmth and ecstasy. The couch creaked from each motion.

"Right there...mm...Laurent!" Makoto gasped. "Why...why is it so good...mmm...when you hit it there…"

"Oh Edamame," Laurent laughed, giving him a kiss on the forehead. "I have so much to show you."

The pace Laurent set was unforgiving. He took his pleasure in Makoto and expected Makoto to do the same. He rolled his hips to Laurent's thrust, smiling and gasping when they met just right in that sweet spot.

Just as Makoto neared the edge Laurent shifted them until he was straddling the blond once more, the Frenchman gripping his bare hips so tightly red marks would be left far beyond tonight.

"This-this position is a little…"

"I want you to take what you want," Laurent whispered, prying his cheeks apart and nudging his cock in between them. Makoto moaned, grinding back to it. "Take whatever you need."

He didn't need to be told more than that. Shakily he took Laurent's cock in his hand, steadying it as he slowly sank in. Makoto would've screamed if he hadn't been pulled into a sloppy kiss, all tongue, and unrefined desire. Drool slipped from the corner of his lips as he took Laurent deeper than ever.

Makoto raised himself up, and slammed down to Laurent's dick, moaning at the way the thickness of it filled him up. Eventually, Laurent grew impatient and grabbed his hips, and slammed up to meet his grind down. 

Each time he thrust up, he hit that sweet spot over and over, and Makoto screamed babbles of _yes_ and _so good_ and _Laurent_.

Laurent's hips stuttered and his thrust grew deeper when he neared. Makoto let out a gasp as his cock was pumped once, twice, before he came all over himself and stained both his and Laurent's clothes.

The Frenchman pressed his moans to Makoto's skin, sucking and marking him once more before he slammed his hips one last time, and came with a sigh.

They laid there on the couch as they tried to regain their breath, Makoto panting as he tried to gulp down as much air as possible. Laurent, by pressing insistent kisses and heavy breaths to Makoto's neck, until he grew annoyed and smacked his head away. "Don't tell me you're gearing up for another round already you pervert."

Laurent pouted. "And _I'm_ the old man between us?"

Makoto tugged his hair until Laurent yelped. "Shut it or I'll give you a receding hair-line _today_."

-

"Oh this is rare," Cynthia cooed. "You're wearing turtlenecks now too, Edamame?"

"Yup," He smiled, discreetly stomping on Laurent's foot from under the cafe's table. The Frenchman whimpered into his latte. None of them gave him a glance. "Changing it up a notch. Maybe one day I'll look as cool as Abby."

Abby stabbed her switchblade on the wooden table, took a long sip of her mocha, and that was that.


End file.
